Holes in the Ground (2 page)

Could that be who is at the door?

“Would Bub knock?” Andy asked. He was naked, but suddenly felt even more exposed. Vulnerable and unprotected.

Afraid.

“That’s not knocking. That’s pounding. But I don’t think he would knock. He’d just bust in and kill us both.”

Not a pleasant thought, but a true one.

Andy swung his legs out of bed and reached for the bathrobe on the nearby chair.

“
TlhIngan maH!”

What the hell? It didn’t sound like a hellspawn, but it didn’t sound exactly human, either.

He glanced back at Sun. She was on her feet, a knife in her hand.

“Where did you get that?”

“I brought it on the plane.”

“How’d you get a knife through TSA?”

“It’s ceramic. Metal detectors won’t catch it.”

Another smack on the door, and Andy flinched.

“Want me to check?” Sun asked.

She was strong. Stronger than he was, Andy knew. But he saw the tension on her face, saw her hand trembling.

Sun had the same nightmares Andy did.

“I’ll check,” he said. He slowly padded over to the door, cautiously, in case it suddenly burst inward. When that didn’t happen, Andy leaned forward enough to check the peephole.

A bleary-eyed teenager stood in the hallway, wearing a Wrath of Khan shirt.

Andy let out the breath he’d been holding. “Some kid,” he told Sun. Then, to the door, he said “What do you want?”

The boy wobbled in place, part human being, part strawberry jelly. Then he repeated the strange expression. “
TlhIngan maH!”

Andy rubbed a hand across his chin. “Is that… Is that
Klingon?
”

“
Qapla!”
the kid yelled.

“There’s some Star Wars geek in the hall?” Sun asked.

“No. Some teen who obviously got into the mini bar. And it’s Star Trek, not Star Wars.”

“What does he want?”

“Maybe he’s out of mixers.”

“nIteb Qob qaD jup ‘e’ chaw’be’ SuvwI’!”

“What did he say?” Sun asked.

“Why do you think I speak Klingon?”

“You speak everything.”

Andy sighed. “He said a warrior doesn’t let his friend go into battle alone.”

“He could be trying to warn us,” Sun said.

“Sun, no one knows we’re here.”

Sun rolled her eyes as if to say,
of course they know we’re here.

The teen knocked again.

“Go away,” Andy told him.

“Is he hurt or something?” Sun asked.

“No. He looks drunk. Or high.”

“Should we help him?”

Andy made a face. “Why?”

“Because we’re good people who help others.”

“You can call down to the front desk, let the hotel manager deal with him.”

Sun got out of bed. “We should see what he wants.”

“You want me to let him in?”

“He could be trying to warn us about something.”

“He could be a random idiot.”

“If he tries anything, I got your back.” Sun held out the knife.

Andy wasn’t going to fight her on this. Not when they’d been married for less than twelve hours. He grunted and opened the door.

The boy staggered forward, and Andy had to put a hand out to hold him up.

“W-what are you doing in my room, dude?” the kid asked in a British accent.

Andy shoved the boy back a step. He did so firmly, but not so hard as to provoke a fight. “This is
my
room,
dude.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You gotta help me. I… I smoked something. I don’t know what it was.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Peer pressure.” His face broke, then he began to giggle. “I’m kidding. No one forced me. I just like drugs.”

“Go like them somewhere else,” Andy said, starting to close the door.

The boy pushed back but smiled merrily, as if Andy’s resistance was an amusing challenge to contend with. “I thought this was my room. It looks like my room.”

“It’s a hotel. All the rooms look alike. Are you here with your parents?”

The boy sneered but couldn’t seem to control his facial muscles enough to keep the expression on his face. “Parents? Don’t talk to me about… about parents. Bloody parents.”

“We should help him.”

“He’s not a puppy, Sun.”

Sun Dennison-Jones was a veterinarian by trade, which was a side of her at odds with the side that had snuck a ceramic knife onto a plane. But she had a thing for strays.

Which, Andy supposed, was why she had fallen in love with him.

Andy sighed again. “What’s your room number, kid?”

The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment, then a brief flash of sobriety seized him. “204.”

“This is the fourth floor. You’re not even on the right level.”

“Let’s get him cleaned up.” Sun had moved behind Andy, surprising him. She rubbed a hand over his rump and squeezed. She’d put on a robe.

Andy shook his head at her. “You want to let this moron inside our room?”

Sun shrugged her shoulders. “Today is our first day as man and wife. What type of couple do you want to be? One who closes the door in people’s faces, or one that helps people when they need it?”

Andy wanted to be the type of couple who had sex, so he complied. He pulled the boy in by his shirt before closing the door with his foot.

“Hey!” he said, shaking free. “Shatner signed this shirt!”

“Maybe you should ask Shatner to help you find your room.”

“Is he here? Awesome!”

Sun took the boy by the arm and sat him down on one of the room’s plush armchairs. “What’s your name?”

“
Jerry
.”

“Okay, Jerry. My name is Sun, and this is my husband, Andy.”

“Sun? Funny name.”

“I’m Vietnamese,” Sun added.

Jerry nodded and smiled. “I like Italians.”

“Of course you do,” Sun said, as if his reply made sense. She squatted down and put a hand on his forehead. “Temp slightly elevated, skin clammy, sclera pink.”

“Sclera?” Andy asked.

“The whites of the eye.”

“So he’s just stoned?”

“Hell yeah!” Jerry hooted.

“Could be something more than pot,” Sun said.

“So we call 911.”

Jerry shook his head. “No cops, dude. I’m straight.”

“Do you like coffee, Jerry?”

“Are tribbles born pregnant?”

Sun looked at Andy. He gave her a nod, then shrugged.

Sun figured out the K-cup coffee machine while Andy sat with the boy in silence. His best guess was that the lad was late teens to early twenties. He was wearing jeans and Nikes and his faded Star Trek T-shirt did indeed have a signature on it, done in black marker. A button pinned to his chest read: “
PROBE ME HARDER
”. The boy’s greasy shoulder-length brown hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks.

Sun handed the boy a steaming mug.

Andy asked, “So, Jerry, where did you get the drugs? Friends?”

He shook his head. “I’m here alone.”

Sun looked sad. “Alone? You came all the way from England on your own?”

“Nobody else would come. I only have one good friend and he… well, things are messed up between us right now. It’s a total arse ache.”

“What a sweet expression.”

“I got the gear from Batman.”

“You got your drugs from Batman?” Andy asked. “Does Commissioner Gordon know?”

“Some guy dressed as Batman. Cosplay, dude. The Bats was hanging with some Gundum manga otaku—real anoraks—and we stoked up the Graffix. But the gear was minging, man. I’m tripping my bollocks off.”

“I’m fluent in two dozen languages and have no idea what you just said.”

Jerry made a face. “Cosplay. Otaku. It’s the CCC this week.”

“CCC?” Andy and Sun said simultaneously.

“The Comic and Conspiracy Convention. Media geeks get together with all the conspiracy theory nuts. A lot of people are dressed up like comics and movies and shit. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“We’re here on our honeymoon,” Sun said.

“Oh. That’s cool. You guys into anime?”

“No,” Andy answered.

“How about conspiracy theories? John Lennon being shot by the IRA in cahoots with the MI5? Project Cumulus in Gibraltar, British government trying to control the weather? It’s a real mindscrew when you see guys in tinfoil hats talking to guys dressed like X-Men.”

“I bet.” Andy looked at his wife, giving her an imploring
can we get him out of here now
expression.

“And the aliens crashing at Roswell, New Mexico? All the secret shit going on at Area 51? You know those were all a cover-up, right? America is even worse than Britain for covering shit up. You guys are the kings of burying secrets. Area 51 is the least of it.”

Andy felt his jaw clench. Sun’s demeanor changed from cordial to dangerous.

“What do you mean, Jerry?” Sun asked, her tone low and even.

“People think the US is hiding aliens. That’s bollocks. They’re hiding the devil. Had him in a secret underground lab.” He sipped from his mug. “This coffee is good. What flavor is it?”

“Coffee flavor.” Andy leaned in close to Jerry, measuring his words. “What do you know about this secret underground lab?”

“Just what I read on the Internet. Compound was called Samhain. Bunch of people died. It was tied to that nuclear explosion, the one they called a power plant accident. Any idiot knows nuclear reactors don’t explode, they melt down. Get this—they say they called the devil
Bub
. Like Beelzebub.”

Sun was on him before Andy could stop her, the ceramic knife at the boy’s neck.

“Who are you and who sent you? Tell us, now!”

Then there was another knock at the door.

Sun turned in the direction of the knock. She looked panicked, and Andy knew he shared the expression.

Their past together was… complicated. They had lived through something they could never share with others. Something involving the very things Jerry was talking about.

Something terrifying.

Andy moved quickly to the door and peeked out through the peep hole.

Two men in black suits and sunglasses.

The
Men in Black
from the movies, geeks dressing up as Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones?

Or the
real
men in black, from the Secret Service?

“Are you going to cut my throat?” Jerry asked curiously.

Sun ignored him, focusing on her husband. “Is it…?”

Andy nodded.

The phone rang, startling them both. Andy had a sick feeling he knew who it was.

Sun left Jerry, who looked bewildered, and picked up the phone. She spoke in a monotone voice. “We already did our part.” Pause. “We’re on our honeymoon.” Pause. “Believe me, I understand national security, but I don’t see why he’d be needed. We were told we could get on with our lives, Mr. President.”

“Whoa,” Jerry said. “Is that the man?”

Sun hung up. Andy felt his stomach clench. “Let them in,” she said. “We don’t have a choice.”

She was correct. Among the many things Sun and Andy had signed in order to return to civilian life after their tenure at Samhain—oaths and pledges and vows and confidentiality agreements and NDAs swearing to never reveal what they knew—there was a price for being left alone. At any time, they could be called back into service.

Fighting the US government was like fighting the tide.

Besides, Andy did feel a smidgeon of responsibility for what happened at Samhain, and he knew Sun did as well.

Good people had died.

Worse, something very bad had escaped.

His hand shaking, he let the Secret Service in. They closed the door behind themselves.

The one on the right said, “Good morning, Mr. Dennison. Mrs. Dennison.”

“It’s Dennison-Jones,” Andy said, feeling deflated. “We just got married.”

“We know. I’m Agent Johnson. This is Agent Williams. Who’s that?”

“He’s not with you?” Sun asked.

“I’m Jerry.” He stood up, and suddenly didn’t look stoned anymore. “I run the Stop Government Secrets website. Is this about Samhain?”

The agents exchanged a glance. Then Agent Williams said, “Get out of here, kid, before you get hurt.”

“The people have a right to know! It’s all true, isn’t it? All the rumors! All the guesses! You really do have Satan locked up! I knew I could prove this! My site is going viral, bitches!”

Agent Williams calmly reached into his pocket and removed a taser.

“Is that a taser?” Jerry asked.

Agent Williams shot Jerry in the chest. The boy jerked and began to convulse.

For a few seconds, Andy dispassionately watched Jerry flop about like a fish on a jetty. When the volts were cut, Jerry lay still with a faint smell of ozone hanging in the room. Andy turned to agent Johnson. “We’re not going. We’re on our honeymoon.”

“We’re not giving you a choice. It’s only for a few days, and you’ll be well compensated for your time, Mr. Dennison.”

“Dennison-Jones. Does Sun have to go?”

“That’s up to her.”

Andy said, “You’re not going” at the same time she said “I’m going.”

They had a stare down, and Andy blinked first. He always did.

Could this honeymoon get any worse?

“What about the kid?” Sun asked.

“I want to go, too!” he said, half-whine and half-croak.

“Who is he?” Agent Williams asked.

“We have no idea,” Andy answered. “He knocked on our door a few minutes before you did.”

Agent Johnson squatted down next to Jerry, grabbed his hand, and pressed it against a small, electronic device that looked like a smart phone.

“Are you reading my fingerprint?” Jerry rasped. “I heard about these things. We’re just one step away from a one world government planting ID chips in our arms to track our movements.”

Agent Johnson eyed the screen of his device. “Jeremy Preston. UK citizen. Wanted for major theft. NSA has a file on him as well.”

“They do?” Jerry sat up, eyes wide. “Cool! I didn’t think anyone was paying attention to me. Hey, how do I get these little electric barbs out of my chest?”

“Pull, really hard,” said Agent Williams.

He did that and yelped. “Getting tazed sucks.”

“That’s the point. What are you doing here, Jerry?”